


touch me so i learn to love again

by dreamyshadows



Series: amor vincit omnia [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Dean, Coda, Episode 11x04: Baby, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Season/Series 11, Top Sam, first time in a long time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5732551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamyshadows/pseuds/dreamyshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Piper, Dean finds himself tangled up in jealousy and pain. Sam tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	touch me so i learn to love again

**Author's Note:**

> catching up with spn was a good decision...baby both broke my heart and fixed it. enjoy and don't forget to give me your feedback!
> 
> *not beta'd

He hasn't felt this kind of pain in a very long time. 

Alone in the bunker, Dean finds himself another glass of whiskey, adding a finger of sorrow to the amber liquid swirling in the crystal depths. The pain of loss has followed him his entire life -- but this, this loss is something recent and new.

This loss bears the mark of Amelia.  _Amelia._ Now there's a name not heard in years, a name he doesn't like to think about, doesn't like to bring up ever. Whenever Dean's memories float to Benny and Purgatory, Sam's year without him is reduced to  _hitting a dog._ Those damned creatures are better than anything that took his brother away from him; are better than any person who can provide Sam with a healthier, happier love. 

It's a rationalization, and a weak one, but Dean finds survival with it easier. Finds looking at Sam in the eyes easier, finds laughing easier when it's only his brother and him.  _It's always been his brother and him._

Naivete is an unattractive trait, Dean chides himself. He doesn't own Sam -- no matter how much he wants to. There are parts of him that want to take shelter within his brother; find the lining of his heart and somehow melt into the blood that joins them both. He wants to  _become_ Sam -- wants to love him from inside, wants to love him in a way no one else can even fathom.

The thought, however pathetic, works. Works until Sam fucks a waitress in the Impala, talks about it happily,  _and even tries to give the whore his number._ Then, the thought shatters. Implodes, explodes, and destroys everything in its path. Destroys Dean.  _Completely and irrevocably._

So now he sits quietly with a whiskey in his hand, and a broken heart screaming his brother's name. 

\---

"I'm gonna go in and grab some grub, you want anything?"

His brother's tone is clipped, and he's looking straight ahead even though the question is aimed at Sam. Irritation corrodes his veins, a few chosen words wanting to flow from his  mouth and give Dean a lesson in courtesy. 

But he stays quiet, as is his habit. Lashing out rarely gets Sam what he's looking for -- it only helps Dean retract further into himself, a few wisecracks easing the path of  _deflect, deflect, deflect._ Sam knows there's something bothering Dean, but for the life of him, he doesn't know what. It's infuriating, this fact. They are so  _connected,_ so in sync, and yet,  _and yet,_ their pains are sometimes too opaque for each other to understand.

Especially Dean's. Born and bred soldier, his face is a master of charades; not even Sam is successful in completely unmasking him. Once again, infuriating. 

"Sam, I fucking asked you something. Can't keep waiting on you princess."

He's inches away from socking his older brother, but Sam has the restraint of a saint. He shakes his head jerkily, turning his cheek to look out the window. His brother takes the hint with naught but a scowl, a slamming car door the only prelude to his brother's obvious temper tantrum -- clearly not the last. When Dean comes back, there will be a lot of more passive-aggressive actions Sam will have to handle. He should work to conserve his energy. 

Sam's always been a strategist; planning for him has been key for most of his life. It's the way he's kept himself sane -- knowing that there was a next step, knowing that something  _could_ potentially be done to ease a situation...it had been elemental to his survival. 

 _Thinking that there were steps in his and Dean's relationship had been elemental to his survival_. But of course, he'd been wrong. Nothing followed set patterns -- especially not their relationship. And it was being cruelly proven to him yet again, with Dean's cold mannerism and withdrawn attitude, they were back to being strangers.

_They'd just started being brothers after so long._

He and Dean hadn't talked like this in ages; hadn't been so open with each other in years -- and now some unknown force was destroying their tremulous balance. 

Sam  _missed_ Dean. He didn't just miss his brother, he missed his lover. The man who knew every part of his body like his own, who'd touched him in ways no one had, and in ways no would ever understand or know. Dean was his _savior_ ; Sam wanted to hold on to him in a way that nothing could break them apart -- but his logical mind had realized that fallacy from its very inception.

Brothers they had only recently begun to be, but lovers, that they hadn't been since Purgatory... _since Amelia._

That's a name he doesn't like to think about -- not consciously, at least. His decision to be with Dean had always come with a price, and thought it wasn't her he missed, he missed terribly what she had represented. 

_He'd always been fond of symbols in Literature class._

Sam focuses his attention back on the bar ahead of him, hair rising when he realizes that Dean's been gone a while. It never takes so long to get food; his brother is constantly ravenous. He always needs fuel, and he always needs it fast. 

Palming his gun, Sam makes his way into the decrepit bar, every sense screaming and on high alert. He's prepared for the worst, but maintains his calm. It could be anything;  _analyze, Sam. Think._ Wise words to remember, things that keep him calm in times of turmoil. Dean's fine. Dean's got to be fine -- the alternative is impossible. 

Sam rounds the corner, fingers beginning to grasp the handle of his Beretta, eyes scouting the number of people and the possible casualties of a gunfire. But it's unneeded. His brother has a beer in one hand, a cue stick in the other, and he's hustling pool like the pro that he is.

_That's not all he's doing._

Dean's tongue won't stop licking those fucking lips, his fingers won't stop sliding down the cue stick, and his ass won't stop sticking out like a beacon. These are tactics no one can ignore -- not when they come from a man like him in a place like this. 

Sam holds onto his rage with everything he has; he rationalizes and reasons, heart asking fists to back down and take a minute.  _Dean needs this,_ the heart argues,  _let him be and let him enjoy._ Fists gag at the suggestion,  _why does he always need to be a slut?_ The heart maintains a stoic silence, and Sam reluctantly stops in his tracks. 

Maybe it's just a hustle. Not even his brother is constantly on the prowl for ass.

But he is made for ironies, and Dean has never been incapable of proving him wrong. Within seconds, his brother goes from charade to full on asking for it; winks and all. Sam's fingers fold into a tight fist, rage burning his insides like a white-hot iron.  _This is what he gets?_ After three years of no touch, this viewing is torture. 

Every woman --

Except that it's not a woman.  _It's a man._

The person Dean's primping himself up for isn't some low-life, needy hooker. No this one is tall, built, and very much all male. His green eyes --  _so much like his brother's --_ are focused on Dean's lips, fingers stroking his beer bottle in a grotesquely sexual fashion. 

He's had enough. He's had more than enough.

Sam doesn't see it coming; he's got the restraint of a saint after all. But when he grabs his brother by the collar, fingers digging into his neck, Sam knows fully that the best saints are broken by great sinners.

\---

"Sam what the fuck do you think you're--"

Dean's anger knows no bounds. For the first time in three weeks --  _since fucking Piper --_ he'd been able to forget his pain. The booze and the pool always worked wonders, but in there, looking into that man's eyes and  _knowing_ someone wanted him bad had been enough. It wasn't what he needed, but it had been something that had lit a fire in his bones. 

Sam had fucked that waitress, but he -- the  _real_  him _\--_ hadn't been with someone in a long, long time. Hadn't been with anyone he cared about in three years. Not since Sam. 

"The hell you think you were doing in there Dean? You go in for food but stay to get fucked?"

At his brother's words, Dean's fist rises on its own accord. He can't control it, the reaction is immediate and visceral. Doesn't hit Sam, of course. They've been brothers too long for Sam to get hit in the face -- he knows how Dean will react. So he blocks it, catches his brother's wrists and pushes him against the Impala.

_This is familiar. This stance is familiar. The touch is familiar._

"The fuck do you care? Missing Piper already?"

He wants to bite his tongue off the minute he says it, wants to pull the words back into his mouth, wants Sam to somehow glaze over them and pretend they never existed. But this is Sam, and his brother is far too capable of proving him wrong. 

"Piper? What does this have to do with Piper?"

He sounds genuinely confused, and Dean gives him this round for brilliant acting. It shouldn't come as a surprise -- they've spent years hiding things from each other, makes sense to eventually become brilliant at it. 

"Nothing. Sam,  _let me go."_

\---

_So that's what this is._

It's  _jealousy._

"Are you...jealous, Dean?"

Sam's words are soft, the hesitance making the tone waver a little, gentility taking away the accusation and making it an implication. This is  _good._ This is what they need; they can go back to being --

"Fuck you, Sam. I think I'll go fuck that guy in the bar now, let me go."

And just like that, the paradise is lost. Sam's rage comes slamming back, fingers tightening around Dean's neck, body pushing him further into the car. How could he have even  _considered_ that his brother would make this easy --  _how could he ever have been so naive?_

He's so angry he could let Dean go. But he won't risk his brother going back into that fucking bar, back to that fucking bastard who's waiting to touch what is only Sam's -- has only ever  _been_ Sam's.

"Is this your way of telling me that you hate her, Dean? That you're mad I was with her?"

In front of him, his brother whimpers, ass beginning to push back into Sam's crotch.  _He knows this. He knows where to go from here._ It'll be so easy, just fucking his brother -- falling back into that pattern of skin comforting skin. The kind of loving that made sure everything was real.

But first, they need to talk.

"Answer me, Dean."

Dean growls, angry at being directed in terms of emotions rather than being fucked. Orders he needs to keep him sane, especially when it comes to his brother. Good little soldier Dean needs someone to keep him in line -- but not like this. Right now, he needs Sam to be inside him, to remind him of his belongings, to bruise this disgusting love into his very bones. He needs to know that this is  _real._

But he also knows that Sam will never give in. 

"Yeah, I am. Now either fuck me, or let someone else do the damn job."

\---

It's not everything, but that confession will do. Sam's already hard in his trousers, mind nearly fracturing under the weight of not pushing into Dean. He's needed this for so, so long. Long enough to drive him insane, long enough to know that here, this is where he will find his paradise. 

"You even think about letting someone touch you, and I'll make sure you won't walk for a week." 

This needs to be said. Women come and go; Piper, Amelia, Lisa...they are long list of failures that remain insignificant. Women with their soft bodies and hearts can never give them what they  _really_ need. In their life, it doesn't mater.

But men, men can give them something. Not the exact emotion or experience, but enough similarity that it ignites Sam's rage on a fundamental level. The only male body Dean will ever know is his -- he's made sure of that for over eleven years, and he'll make sure of that till the day he dies. 

His brother honest to God  _whines,_ ass rutting against Sam's cock, making fireworks explode in his mind. It's always been like this between them -- it's _only_ been like this between them; the intensity will never fade, this need will never fade.

Sam shucks his brother's pants down shapely thighs, moaning at the skin revealed to him all at once.  _Too long,_ he pants.  _Too damn long._ His brother keens his approval, and Sam thrusts three fingers into the damned mouth that started their downfall, "Get them as wet as you can, this is all the prep you'll get."

His brother whimpers again and gets to work, talented tongue roving around Sam's digits, drawing patterns into the skin. It's not going to be easy or smooth, but maybe pain is what they need to keep them going.

Sam taps Dean's core, marveling at the heat he hasn't felt in three years, just absorbing everything about the moment. The wait has been poetic, and his touches are frantic and untutored. But he finally gets his fingers into his brother's clenching warmth, so  _tight so goddamn tight_ that he thinks he might as well die. Softly, he begins to move his hands, but his brother groans, saliva not enough to make this easy.

Sam hesitates, but his halt is abused by Dean, who fucks back onto his fingers, "Don't you leave me here Sam, don't you fucking --"

And he doesn't. Loves his brother with his fingers, proceeding to pull his own pants down, heart racing so loud that he can't even hear himself think. Suddenly he's seventeen again, begging Dean to let him do this  _because please Dean let me be with you, let me love you in a way no one has._ To this day, those pleas ring in his ears like church bells. _They are still ringing in his ears._ In one rugged thrust, Sam comes home. 

Dean shouts hoarsely, anonymity of their location keeping them sane, keeping Sam focused on bottoming out within him. None of them can hold for too long; Dean is tight -- too tight -- and Sam cannot escape the feeling of being throttled. His brother's hole grips his cock too strongly, and he feels the pull in his very soul. 

Only a few thrusts later, he's coming, emptying everything he is into his older brother. Sam doesn't stop; he rides out the wave, fingers wrapping around Dean's pre-come drenched dick, stroking softly and then with frenzied motions that mimic the turmoil within. Dean comes with a high pitched whine, body jerking against Sam, too sensitive and fucked out to function properly. 

They both sag against each other, weight laying completely on Dean's baby.

Sam recovers first, once again grabbing his brother's collar to push him into the car. They're both covered in each other's slick, Dean's come shining on his hands and thighs. 

He's grimacing, little clean freak, and making faces at Sam. 

"You know, your territorial streak shows up at very inconvenient times, Sammy."

There it is,  _Sammy._ At the words, Sam smiles and gazes at Dean, thinking about everything they are and have been through. This, here in the Impala, is everything.

"Dean, you know Piper meant nothing, right? No one except you will  _ever_ mean anything."

It needs to be said, and the words are uncomfortable, but they must be heard. His brother needs to know that nothing will ever change between them -- especially not this insatiable need to be anything and everything for each other.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean smiles, "I know."

_That's all it takes. That is all it will ever take._

\---

finit


End file.
